honesty is the best policy?

My friend had a birthday bash in London recently. An excuse to drink (too much as it turned out), sing karaoke and catch up with some colleagues whom I had worked with in Australia. It was a drunken night. Perhaps the choice of Long Island Iced Teas was a poor one. Who knows?

The end of the night saw me stuck somewhere in the middle of London, well passed the time that Tubes or decent people run, trying to snatch a lift off a friend of a friend. It turns out she preys on drunk young men as some form of sport. Politely she listened to my garbled nonsense as she drove me to my hotel.

We pulled up outside the front entrance and had a conversation somewhat like this. Note: slurring and heavy alcohol laden breathing, not to mention the occasional groan (on my part) not included:

Girl: ‘Would you like to come back to my place?’

Me: ‘Ummm, where do you live?’

Girl: ‘Hammersmith’

Me: ‘I have no idea where that is’

Girl: ‘I’m driving, so it doesn’t really matter does it?’

Me: ‘I’m not one-hundred percent sure that if I came over it would be worth your while…’

Girl ‘Why’s that? Is it because…?’ (she asked whilst making the gesture that routinely refers to brewer’s droop)

Me: ‘No, no not that. That’s fine!’ (attempting a winning smile which, I thought and still maintain, was somewhat like George Clooney) ‘It’s just that every time I shut my eyes, I feel dizzy and a little bit like I’m going to vomit and I’m not sure that’s conducive to a good night…’

Girl: ‘Oh.’

Me: ‘…but you can come up to my room if you want!’

The next memory I have is walking alone through the lobby and having a protracted conversation with a decorative fern…

~ by Dr Ben on February 23, 2007.